adventures in hull #48

Before long, the seemingly infinite cavern gave way to a series of twisted passages, ancient doorways and glowing moss. Apparently it had been my eyesight that was finite, rather than the cavern being endless. I added this to a mental list of my flaws that I had been compiling. It was the second item on the list, after “#1: cannot be stopped”; something that had got me into trouble on seven prior occasions.

I was startled from my list-compiling by the need to stoop under a low doorframe and into a room that had no place in the otherwise ancient cavern. Clearly furnished by Ikea, it held a modest, affordable, yet distinctly modern vibe that almost took my breath away with the sheer audacity of its juxtaposition. I sat on a swivel chair, next to a clean wooden desk, and regained my wherewithal.

The wizard-king stood before me, grinning. “Isn’t it marvellous? I call it THE SCANDINAVIAN ROOM.” I could tell he was speaking in capitals from the resonance of the vowels. He offered me a plate of meatballs, accompanied with an odd fruit sauce, and some gravlax. “This is not what I wanted to show you, however.”

I ate greedily. Though it had not been at the forefront of my mind, I suddenly realised I was incredibly hungry – perhaps due to the length of time I had spent hover-sleeping in the infinite cavern. The various Swedish delicacies, filtered through mass consumerism, seemed glorious to my underfed tastebuds. I dabbed at my mouth with a napkin that was emblazoned with the flag of Denmark. My eyebrow must have raised quizzically, as the wizard-king launched into a tedious explanation of how he liked everything Swedish APART from the flag, which I won’t repeat here as it genuinely was insufferably dull.

Finally, I was done, and I let the wizard-king lead me from my swivel chair and into the adjoining room. As he opened the door, I found myself shrinking back from an impossible light. As my eyes adjusted, I peered through my lashes into the new room; giant and rounded, it contained only one thing – a colossal old man, flowing beard, chained to the floor and unable to move.

“It’s God, Toby. I’ve finally trapped him.”

God looked up, smiled at me, and spoke. “[citation needed]”, he said. I frowned and looked over at the wizard-king.

“This isn’t God. It’s Wikipedia.”

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